


If Only In My Dreams

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-11
Updated: 1999-09-11
Packaged: 2018-11-11 04:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11141274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: It's Ben's turn to dream. This story is a sequel toDream A Little Dream Of You.





	If Only In My Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

If Only In My Dreams

## If Only In My Dreams

by Strwriter

Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.cm/Area51/Dunes/7676/duecredit.html

Author's disclaimer:   
Our company who art in Canada   
Copyrighted be thy name   
Thy franchise come   
Thy will be done   
In fanfic as it is in canon   
Give us this day our daily read   
And forgive us our scribblings   
As we forgive the stinkers you sometimes make   
Lead us not into cancellation   
But deliver us from commercials   
For thine is the copyright   
And the merchandising, and the glory   
Now and forever   
Amen

Author's notes: Set late second season. No major spoilers. This is dedicated to A companion piece to "Dream A Little Dream Of You."

* * *

"Don't wake her." 

"I won't, don't worry." Gently, I ease my arms beneath the tiny bundle, lifting her to my shoulder. She sighs in her sleep and snuggles against me, trusting and peaceful. A bright red curl of ribbon is still clutched in one chubby fist, a silver adhesive-backed bow sticking to her fine, dark hair. 

My wife called it indulgent, letting her play with the wrapping and ribbons all afternoon, but I couldn't resist. The way that she would laugh, emit those childish babbles of a babe too young to restrain their joy. The way she would wrap the ribbons and paper scraps around herself, parading them in front of me with delighted cries of "Pweddy, dada!" Meg couldn't stop laughing when our daughter displayed her new color-identification skills, sticking a bright bow over my left eye with a satisfied shout of, "Bwoo!" 

Looking around the snug cabin's warm living room, I survey what remains of the Christmas trappings. The tree glitters and shines in the bright firelight, the ornaments winking beads of reflected light to dance against the walls. Dolls, teddy bears, new clothing, and hand-carved blocks are scattered like so much debris across the floor. With the windows tightly closed against the frigid Yukon winter, the rich aroma of dinner still hangs thick in the air. It was a real Christmas dinner...the kind I had only read about as a child, but come to know at the Vecchios while I lived in Chicago. 

If this is overindulgence, then I embrace it. My little girl will have all of the wonderful things I enjoyed as a child - the vast unspoiled tundra, the rich traditions of the Inuit - while hopefully lacking the privations. Unlike my father, I have sworn to always be there for her. I saw her first step, listened to her first word, marveled at the look of innocent awe that lit her eyes when she first saw flowers poke their brilliant heads through the snow. We'll be going down to Chicago for New Years, and she will learn that the world is bigger than this, learn that she has an extended family that loved her before she was even born. 

Smoothing my hand over her downy ebony curls, I bend my head to rest my cheek against the satiny softness of hers. Her small, heart-shaped mouth parts, one thumb rising to slip between her lips. I smile. Every time I look at her, it still takes my breath away. So perfect...it truly is a miracle that this little creature was somehow created with the woman I love, appearing with every detail already sculpted in only nine months. My little snow angel. 

I feel a hand on my other shoulder, massaging through the red plaid flannel of my shirt to work the muscles of my shoulder and neck. "I thought you were taking her to bed." 

"I will." Meg laughs softly, and I smile sheepishly. She knows me too well. 

"You'll just let her sleep on your lap again." Unable to refute the truth, I nod. 

She places both hands against my chest, looking up into my eyes. "You are such a pushover, Ben Fraser." Her face seems to glow in the ever-changing firelight, and I am amazed by her beauty all over again. Here, up in the land of snow and ice I so love, the ice over her heart has somehow thawed. 

Rank means little or nothing here, except that she likes to remind me of it when it is particularly cold and we need more wood. Without the big-city machinations and politics, the RCMP doesn't object to us being husband and wife. In fact, with the demanding environment, they actually smiled upon it, knowing it would allow us to work together with total trust and teamwork. Her courageous heart has served her well out here, her generous spirit shining through as she realized that here she had nothing to prove to anyone. We've managed to bring down several criminals in our few years out here, but that has become almost incidental to me. 

I have what I've always wanted. A beautiful wife who shares my love of justice. A home in the land where I belong. A family. 

"I know I am." I wrap my free hand around her waist, caressing her stomach lightly. It's still firm and flat, her waist still so slender that I can almost close my hands around it. Within a few weeks, though, I know we will have to explain to my angel that there will be another member of the family. I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl. Selfishly, I half wish for a son, if only so I can remedy so many of the mistakes my father made in raising me. 

Either way, though, I hope he or she is born with Meg's eyes. That was my one disappointment with my daughter. Although every bit as beautiful as her mother, her eyes are my own arctic blue, rather than the multicolored depth of her mother's. I close my eyes, imagining a little boy with the strength and pride of his grandfather, but a handsomeness gleaned from his mother. Meg says she hopes that the baby will resemble me, but I pray that will not be the case. My wife's almost exotic elegance is far preferable to my own plain features, though some people have told me that there is an attractiveness there as well. 

Her hand closes over mine, and she leans forward, her lips brushing lightly against my cheek. "I guess I'll have to make it an order then, Corporal." 

Forcing my best innocent expression, I feign unawareness of what she wants. "Inspector?" 

"Put her to bed, Corporal." Pulling myself to ramrod-straight attention, I nod crisply. 

"Yes, sir." Turning as briskly as I dare, I carry my angel into her bedroom. The blankets in her bed are thickly woven wool and butter-soft seal pelts, isolating her from the winter chill. As I tuck her small body in among the protective layers, I realize that her feet are bumping against the hand-carved footboard. She's growing so quickly, and I know that I'll have to start on another bed soon. At nearly two, she's really getting too old for the cradle anyway, and it will soon be needed for her little brother or sister. 

Carefully, I open her fingers, easing out the bit of ribbon, and gently lift the bow from her hair. For a long moment, I just look at her lying there, wondering what I ever did to deserve this. Tomorrow, I know she will be up again, running and laughing insatiably, cavorting about the cabin with her gifts, tying more 'pweddy bows' onto the ever-patient Diefenbaker. 

Ray has heard so much about her in letters already, and I know he is eager to see her in person. I myself am looking forward to seeing the Vecchio's again. From the letters and phone calls I've received, I know that he has found a wonderful woman of his own, to whom he has become engaged, and that Francesca has not only courted but married Constable Turnbull, who took over my old position as liaison officer. I was tracking a suspect when they were married, but I will give them their gift belatedly when I see them this New Years. She says they have an announcement, and I hope that it is the same announcement Meg and I will be making. Francesca and Renfield would make such wonderful parents. 

A shadow falls over us, a figure standing in the doorway. "Ben? Are you coming?" 

Tearing my eyes away from my little angel, I turn to look at my other angel. The firelight shines from behind her, outlining her strong yet feminine figure through the fabric of her nightgown. My eyes move over the lithe curves of her long legs, up over her hips and torso to her face. She is smiling at me, those incredible eyes lit with a desire that I am always amazed to see. 

She loves me. Even after four years, she still loves me. In my thirty-nine years on this planet, I've never lived this long without loneliness. She is always there for me, never letting that horrible emptiness cut through my spirit. I shake my head as I remember that I once considered that normal. That I existed from day to day, never questioning the constant gnawing hunger for love that tore through my soul like a bitter winter wind. Always thinking that it was somehow my duty to live with that heartache. 

My heart no longer aches, though, and as I take her into my arms, I know that it is this woman alone whom I have to thank for that. She is my salvation, my strength. Burying my face against the side of her neck, I whisper softly into her ear. "I love you, Inspector Fraser." 

Her hands slide down my back, fingers lacing together just at my belt. "I know." She pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. "And I love you, Corporal Fraser." 

As we move together back into the living room, I close our child's door behind us. Her fingers have migrated to the front of my shirt now, and they are nimbly separating the thick flannel button by button, exposing the thin white cotton undershirt beneath. My own fingers are entwined in her hair, my forehead resting against hers as I look deeply into those spectacular eyes, almost drunk on the giddy happiness of the night. Our lips find each other, and my eyes close as I give myself over to the sensations. 

The gold of her wedding band is cool against the heat of my skin as her hands slip up under my undershirt, pushing it up. Taking the hint, I step back just enough to pull the garment over my head and off, tossing it carelessly aside. She has opened the top two buttons on her own nightgown, but stopped, looking at me with a coquettish smile. "Aren't you going to unwrap your Christmas present, Ben?" 

I don't even bother to answer her with words. Instead, I take her hand, leading her over to the couch directly in front of the fireplace. Pulling her down onto my lap, I take the first of the buttons between my teeth and twist. It took me a while to learn the skill of oral unbuttoning without breaking any of the threads, but the practice was some of the best of my life. Now, I can do it easily, and I release the remaining buttons quickly, inhaling deeply of her intoxicating scent. My tongue laps out, tasting her smooth, creamy skin, darting out with tiny licks on a path upwards from her navel to her lips. 

Our mouths meet passionately, the desire still strong and new. I feel a gust of cool wind over us, and my mind flashes briefly back to our first kiss, where the heat of our love shut out even the biting cold of a speeding winter train. 

Ignoring the chill, my tongue quests against hers, our love building in a passion that is as strong as it is enduring. Part of me prays this will never end, but another part knows that tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that hold even greater promise. The cold gust comes again, and this time I open my eyes, wondering if I left the cabin window open a crack. 

The darkness suddenly surrounded me, a lonely, far-off siren wailing through the open window of my tiny apartment. I hope Dief forgives me for waking him up when I cried. 

**THE END**


End file.
